


The Song Remains the Same

by AlwaysAndForever98



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:14:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22874590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlwaysAndForever98/pseuds/AlwaysAndForever98
Summary: With God locked away in Amara's cage the Winchesters are finally writing their own story. Back in 1973, they change the future by changing the past.
Kudos: 29





	The Song Remains the Same

* * *

**1.**

The day had been going perfectly.  
Liddy Walsh had let him into her home and was buying into every word he said. He had her hook, line, and sinker. And with a little more pushing, she'd do anything to save her husband. Even make a deal with the devil.

Azazel smiled, his eyes flickering yellow. He saw Liddy's eyes widen, and there was the fear he loved so much in them, but behind that, there was also resignation.  
 _I have her._ The demon thought.

Then the front door was kicked in. A large human, a hunter, no doubt stormed into the house.

"Move!" the human ordered Liddy, who complied.

With a sigh, Azazel stood up from the couch. This place had just become a bust. After the hunter's spectacle, he doubted Liddy would still want to make a deal.

The hunter, foolish human that he was, had a pea-shooter pointed at him.  
 _I'll have a little fun with him._ Azazel decided and jumped forward.

As predicted, the hairless ape pulled the trigger, and a ball of metal slammed into his chest. He looked down at the bleeding hole in his current vessel.

"You know, I hadn't killed this meat-suit yet." He said and smiled cruelly at the hunter.  
"His deaths on you."

"I don't believe you." the hunter said, and he pulled another gun out.

A Colt Paterson 1836.

Azazel stared at the gun. He knew what it was. It was _the_ Colt. Samuel Colt's, Colt.

"Where did you get that gun?"

The hunter cocked the legendary gun and smiled. Azazel opened his vessel's mouth and tried to flee.

"You aren't getting away." the hunter said. "I carved a Devil's Trap into the bullet I shot you with. You're stuck in that vessel."

"Who are you?" Azazel demanded.

The hunter wasn't lying. He hadn't felt it before, but he could now. His soul was trapped in the man he was possessing.  
 _I can't let him shoot me._ The demon's yellow eyes flicked to the windows and doors. None of them were close enough. Without his powers, he would never make it.

"My name is Sam Winchester."

The Colt fired, and Azazel could do nothing. A searing pain bloomed in his meat-suits gut, and everything went black.

Sam watched as a small orange light exploded inside the demon's vessel. Yellow-eyes fell to the floor, dead.  
 _I did it._ He thought and lowered the Colt. After nearly two decades, he had gotten revenge for Jessica.

"Winchester?"

Sam nearly dropped the Colt. He turned around, and a younger version of his mother, Mary, was standing in the doorway of the house. Her father, Samuel, was next to her, and both were staring at him.

"Your name is Winchester?" Mary asked again. "Like Johns? Do you know him?"

_Crap._ Sam tried to think of something, anything that would fix what he had just done.

"Answer the question?" Samuel demanded.

"John Winchester is my brother." Sam lied. "Our father, Henry-"

"Ran out on John when he was a kid." Mary cut him off. "John hates the man."

"I know, but if you just let me-"

"What about the other guy? The one who followed us to the diner?" Mary asked. "Is he John's brother too?"

"Yes." Sam nodded. "Our dad. . .he was a hunter. And, um, he tried to leave the life once. Met a woman, settled down in a house and had a kid with her. But a few years later his past caught up with him and he had to leave. For John's safety."

He was lying out of his ass, but Mary and Samuel didn't seem to know, so he kept going.

"Henry didn't want to drag John into our world, so we kept our distance. Checked up on him every now and then, made sure nothing was after him."

"But you never talked to him? Your own brother?" Mary had tears in her eyes. "John thinks his father abandoned him. He's been alone his whole life!"

"I know, Mary, I do. But this life, _our_ life. It only ends one way. And we don't want that for our brother."

Even if the story he was spitting was complete crap, Sam wasn't lying about that. He knew how much hunting would ruin his dad. It was one of the many reasons that he was in Lawerence. If he killed Yellow-eyes here, then Mary wouldn't die, and John would live a normal life with his family.

"John deserves to know that he has brothers," Mary said.

Sam frowned. Mom had wanted out of the life. She didn't want their dad or them involved in it. So why was she pushing for him to talk to his _'brother'_ who was still ignorant of the supernatural?

"He deserves to live a normal life." He argued.

"Why can't he have both?"

"Because that isn't how it works. You're either a hunter or your not. Trying to keep one foot in the door never works."

"So you're just going to disappear? You and Dean?"

Sam nodded. "I know it's not ideal-"

"Just go." Mary spat. "If you want to abandon John, fine. Do it. But don't make excuses."

She turned on her heel and stormed from the house. Samuel followed after her, and Sam waited until he heard an engine outside before he turned to Liddy.

"Can I use your phone?"

* * *

**2.**

Dean Winchester stared calmly across the table at the man with the hippie glasses.  
They were the only two players remaining in an all-night poker game, and Dean had a large pile of chips in front of him. Hippie-glasses only had a hundred dollars worth left, and he was contemplating his cards nervously while smoking on his third joint.

Dean doubted he'd ever get the smell of weed out of his jacket. That was the price he had to pay though. Well, that and the game's five hundred dollar buy-in, which Dean had been forced to take from the Men of Letter's safe. He and his brother had tried not to dip into the Men of Letter's private bank if they could help it. The safe was emergencies only. Which their current predicament was. They had been reduced to a penniless state, which meant that they needed a big score in order to keep doing things like eating and putting gas in their cars. After all, starving to death or being stuck on the road without gas wasn't how either of them wanted to spend their new _'God-free'_ lives.

Hippie-glasses stared at Dean's four up cards: a two of hearts, three of clubs, four of hearts, and a six of spades. As for him, he had three aces showing, as well as a four of diamonds. Dean had consistently matched his opponent's bets, never raising him. He could afford to be magnanimous, given his monster pile of chips and the fact that Hippi-glasses was on his last legs.  
 _I really should have learned his name._ Dean mused.

Then he thought about it. . .  
 _Nah. Why bother?_

The problem for Hippie-glasses was that he couldn't be sure if Dean was betting for the fun of it or not. After all, Dean was able to match all bets, even with a crisp hand. His up cards indicated a likely straight, or maybe two or three of a kind.  
On the other hand, Hippie-glasses could easily have a full house or even four aces.  
 _Not likely though, judging from his expression._

What worried the hophead, Dean figured, was that his pile of chips had been slowly but surely increasing all night and into the morning. That wasn't an accident. The other five players had all dropped out, with most of their money now represented by clay disks that were wither stacked in front of Dean of in the middle of the table.

In many ways, he felt ridiculous playing poker when his brother was hunting the demon that had killed their mother, but they had to get cash somehow. Besides, Dean had already killed the son of a bitch once; it was Sam's turn now.

And as crazy has it sounded, Azazel just wasn't a big hitter anymore. They had killed him and then gone on to fight and kill monsters that were far out of his league. Sam could handle yellow-eyes, and he would handle their money situation. Then they could both get back to doing what they did best.

_First things first though._

"C'mon, kid," Dean said, breaking the silence and making everyone in the room jump.  
"Bet or fold."

Hippie-glasses sighed.

"Let's do it, man." He pushed all his chips in. "I'm betting it all."

Dean tossed in two fifty-dollar chips.

"Call."

Grinning, Hippie-glasses flipped over the ace of hearts he had in the hole alongside the three he had up.

"Boom!"

Letting out a long breath, Dean first flipped over the six of hearts. Then he flipped over the four of hearts.  
Thinking Dean only had two pair-sixes and fours- the hippie started to make a grab for the pit.

Then Dean flipped over his third card: the five of hearts.  
Which gave him the two, three, four, five, and six of hearts: a straight flush, which was the only hand that could beat four of a kind.

He grinned and pulled all the chips to him.

"No way, man!" Hippi-glasses yelled.

Behind Dean, three men laughed. One was the bartending who also ran the game. The other two were the only players who'd stuck around after they lost all their money, curious to see how the rest of the game would go.  
The bartender could afford to laugh, since one hundred dollars of everyone's buy-in went straight to him, in return for the use of the hall. Once Dean paid the Men of Letter's back, that left him with three grand in his pocket. And since he was a legacy, the five hundred in the safe was technically his as well.

"Fun game, gentleman," Dean said as he pushed his chair back. He stepped over to the bar to collect his winnings.

Scowling, Hippie-glasses slumped back in his seat.

"Yeah, whatever," he muttered.

Chuckling, the bartender counted out a stack of bills.

"Don't mind him, son," he said when he was done. "His daddy owns the plant in town, he ain't use to losing."

"Hmm," Dean hummed. Then he headed for the exit, ignoring the glare he was getting from hippie glasses.

Opening the door, Dean winced as the rising sun caught him right in the eyes. For some reason, he had thought that the sun wouldn't be up for at least another hour yet.  
Walking out into the parking lot, he reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out his keys. He hopped into his new ride, a black 4-door 1940 Plymouth Roadking, from the Bunker's garage. It was just like the one Elliot Ness had, and without the Impala to drive, Dean had called dibs.

Sliding the key into the ignition, he started the car, checked the rearview mirror-  
-and jumped out of his skin at the sight of Castiel's blank expression, suddenly there in the passenger seat.

"What the hell, Cas?"

"You're game was over. I have already taken Sam back to the Bunker, and Rowena is there was well."

Backing the Roadking out of the space, Dean glanced at the angel.

"Cas, it's great that you have your wings back. Really, I'm happy for you. But personal space, man." he said, then processed what Castiel had said. "Wait, Rowena? Amara sent us back half a century. How the hell is _Rowena_ at the Bunker?"

"I don't know. When we arrived, she was waiting at the door and said she was only going to _explain things once_. And told me to find you." Cas said.

"Alright, alright, let me gas up the King, and I'll haul ass," Dean said. "Tell Rowena that I don't want her leaving the Bunker until she explains what the hell is going on."

"I can take us there," Castiel suggested.

"No."

"It's a three days drive from here to Lebanon, Dean. It will take you. . ."

"I've told you before, Cas, when you do that, it turns my sphincter inside out." Dean felt queasy just at the thought.

Castiel shook his head.

"Dean, we don't have time to wait for you to drive all the way to Lebanon."

"Fine!"

Dean felt his stomach flipped and threw himself out the car, losing his lunch in the grass instead of on the floorboard.

"We're here," Castiel said.


End file.
